I EXPLORE TIPPECANOE CREEK
The woodland silence, one time stirred
By the soft pathos of some passing bird,
Is not the same it was before.
The spot where once, unseen, a flower
Has held its fragile chalice to the shower,
Is different for evermore.
Unheard, unseen
A spell has been!
--_Thomas Bailey Aldrich_.
My first care was to find the gardener of St. Agatha's and renew his
pledge of silence of the night before; and then I sought the ladies, to
make sure that they had not been disturbed by my collision with
Gillespie. Miss Pat and Helen were in Sister Theresa's pretty
sitting-room, through whose windows the morning wind blew fresh and
cool. Miss Pat was sewing--her dear hands, I found, were always
busy--while Helen read to her.
"This is a day for the open! You must certainly venture forth!" I
began cheerily. "You see, Father Stoddard chose well; this is the most
peaceful place on the map. Let us begin with a drive at six, when the
sun is low; or maybe you would prefer a little run in the launch."
They exchanged glances.
"I think it would be all right, Aunt Pat," said Helen.
"Perhaps we should wait another day. We must take no chances; the
relief of being free is too blessed to throw away. I really slept
through the night--I can't tell you what a boon that is!"
"Why, Sister Margaret had to call us both at eight!" exclaimed Helen.
"That is almost too wonderful for belief." She sat in a low, deep,
wicker chair, with her arms folded upon her book. She wore a short
blue skirt and white waist, with a red scarf knotted at her throat and
a ribbon of like color in her hair.
"Oh, the nights here are tranquillity itself! Now, as to the drive--"
"Let us wait another day, Mr. Donovan. I feel that we must make
assurance doubly sure," said Miss Pat; and this, of course, was final.
It was clear that the capture of Gillespie had not disturbed the
slumber of St. Agatha's. My conscience pricked me a trifle at leaving
them so ignorantly contented; but Gillespie's appearance was hardly a
menace, and though I had pledged myself to warn Helen Holbrook at the
first sign of trouble, I determined to deal with him on my own account.
He was only an infatuated fool, and I was capable, I hoped, of
disposing of his case without taking any one into my confidence. But
first it was my urgent business to find him.
I got out the launch and crossed the lake to the summer colony and
began my search by asking for Gillespie at the casino, but found that
his name was unknown. I lounged about until lunch-time, visited the
golf course that lay on a bit of upland beyond the cottages and watched
the players until satisfied that Gillespie was not among them, then I
went home for luncheon.
A man with bandaged arms, and clad in a dressing-gown, can not go far
without attracting attention; and I was not in the least discouraged by
my fruitless search. I have spent a considerable part of my life in
the engaging occupation of looking for men who were hard to find, and
as I smoked my cigar on the shady terrace and waited for Ijima to
replenish the launch's tank, I felt confident that before night I
should have an understanding with Gillespie if he were still in the
neighborhood of Annandale.
The midday was warm, but I cooled my eyes on the deep shadows of the
wood, through which at intervals I saw white sails flash on the lake.
All bird-song was hushed, but a woodpecker on a dead sycamore hammered
away for dear life. The bobbing of his red head must have exercised
some hypnotic spell, for I slept a few minutes, and dreamed that the
woodpecker had bored a hole in my forehead. When I roused it was with
a start that sent my pipe clattering to the stone terrace floor. A man
who has ever camped or hunted or been hunted--and I have known all
three experiences--always scrutinizes the horizons when he wakes, and I
found myself staring into the wood. As my eyes sought remembered
landmarks here and there, I saw a man dressed as a common sailor
skulking toward the boat-house several hundred yards away. He was
evidently following the school wall to escape observation, and I rose
and stepped closer to the balustrade to watch his movements. In a
moment he came out into a little open space wherein stood a stone tower
where water was stored for the house, and he paused here and gazed
about him curiously. I picked up a field-glass from a little table
near by and caught sight of a swarthy foreign face under a soft felt
hat. He passed the tower and walked on toward the lake, and I dropped
over the balustrade and followed him.
The Japanese boy was still at work on the launch, and, hearing a step
on the pier planking, he glanced up, then rose and asked the stranger
his business.
The man shook his head.
"If you have business it must be at the house; the road is in the other
direction," and Ijima pointed to the wood, but the stranger remained
stubbornly on the edge of the pier. I now stepped out of the wood and
walked down to the pier.
"What do you want here?" I demanded sharply.
The man touched his hat, smiled, and shook his head. The broad hand he
lifted in salute was that of a laborer, and its brown back was
tattooed. He belonged, I judged, to one of the dark Mediterranean
races, and I tried him in Italian.
"These are private grounds; you will do well to leave here very
quickly," I said.
I saw his eyes light as I spoke the words slowly and distinctly, but he
waited until I had finished, then shook his head.
I was sure he had understood, but as I addressed him again, ordering
him from the premises, he continued to shake his head and grin
foolishly. Then I pointed toward the road.
"Go; and it will be best for you not to come here again!" I said, and,
after saluting, he walked slowly away into the wood, with a sort of
dogged insolence in his slightly swaying gait. At a nod from me Ijima
stole after him while I waited, and in a few minutes the boy came back
and reported that the man had passed the house and left the grounds by
the carriage entrance, turning toward Annandale.
With my mind on Gillespie I put off in the launch, determined to study
the lake geography. A mile from the pier I looked back and saw, rising
above the green wood, the gray lines of Glenarm house; and farther west
the miniature tower of the little chapel of St. Agatha's thrust itself
through the trees. To the east lay Annandale village; to the northwest
the summer colony of Port Annandale. I swung the boat toward the
unknown north of this pretty lake, watching meanwhile its social
marine--if I may use such a term--with new interest. Several smart
sail-boats lounged before the wind--more ambitious craft than I
imagined these waters boasted; the lake "tramps" on their ceaseless
errands to and from the village whistled noisily; we passed a boy and
girl in a canoe--a thing so pretty and graceful and so clean-cut in its
workmanship that I turned to look after it. The girl was lazily plying
the paddle; the boy, supported by a wealth of gay cushions, was
thrumming a guitar. They glared at me resentfully as their
cockle-shell wobbled in the wash of the launch.
"That's a better canoe than we own, Ijima. I should like to pick up
one as good."
"There are others like it on the lake. Hartridge is the maker. His
shop is over there somewhere," and Ijima waved his hand toward the
north. "A boy told me at the Annandale dock that those canoes are
famous all over this country."
"Then we must certainly have one. We could have used one of those
things in Russia."
The shores grew narrower and more irregular as we proceeded, and we saw
only at rare intervals any signs of life. A heavy forest lay at either
hand, broken now and then by rough meadows. Just beyond a sharp curve
a new vista opened before us, and I was astonished to see a small
wooded island ahead of us. Beyond it lay the second lake, linked to
the main body of Annandale by a narrow strait.
"I did not know there was anything so good on the lake, Ijima. I
wonder what they call this?"
He reached into a locker and drew out a tin tube.
"This is a map, sir. I think they call this Battle Orchard."
"That's not bad, either. I don't see the orchard or the battle, but no
doubt they have both been here." I was more and more pleased.
I gave him the wheel and took the map, which proved to be a careful
chart of the lake, made, I judged, by my friend Glenarm for his own
amusement. We passed slowly around the island, which was not more than
twenty acres in extent, with an abrupt bank on the east and a low
pebbly shore on the west, and a body of heavy timber rising darkly in
the center. The shore of the mainland sloped upward here in the tender
green of young corn. I have, I hope, a soul for landscape, and the
soft bubble of water, the lush reeds in the shallows, the rapidly
moving panorama of field and forest, the glimpses of wild flowers, and
the arched blue above, were restful to mind and heart. It seemed
shameful that the whole world was not afloat; then, as I reflected that
another boat in these tranquil waters would be an impertinence that I
should resent, I was aware that I had been thinking of Helen Holbrook
all the while; and the thought of this irritated me so that I
criticized Ijima most unjustly for running the launch close to a
boulder that rose like a miniature Gibraltar near the shadowy shore we
were skirting.
We gained the ultimate line of the lower lake, and followed the shore
in search of its outlet, pleasingly set down on the map as Tippecanoe
Creek, which ran off and joined somewhere a river of like name.
"We'll cruise here a bit and see if we can find the creek," I said,
filling my pipe.
Tippecanoe! Its etymology is not in books, but goes back to the first
star that ever saw itself in running water; its cadence is that of a
boat gliding over ripples; its syllables flow as liquidly as a woodland
spring lingering in delight over shining pebbles. The canoe alone, of
all things fashioned to carry man, has a soul--and it is a soul at once
obedient and perverse. And now that I had discovered the name
Tippecanoe, it seemed to murmur itself from the little waves we sent
singing into the reeds. My delight in it was so great, it rang in my
head so insistently, that I should have missed the creek with the
golden name if Ijima had not called my attention to its gathering
current, that now drew us, like a tide. The lake's waters ran away,
like a truant child, through a woody cleft, and in a moment we were as
clean quit of the lake as though it did not exist. After a few rods
the creek began to twist and turn as though with the intention of
making the voyager earn his way. In the narrow channel the beat of our
engine rang from the shores rebukingly, and soon, as a punishment for
disturbing the peace of the little stream, we grounded on a sand-bar.
"This seems to be the head of navigation, Ijima. I believe this creek
was made for canoes, not battleships."
Between us we got the launch off, and I landed on a convenient log and
crawled up the bank to observe the country. I followed a
stake-and-rider fence half hidden in vines of various sorts, and
tramped along the bank, with the creek still singing its tortuous way
below at my right hand. It was late, and long shadows now fell across
the world; but every new turn in the creek tempted me, and the sharp
scratch of brambles did not deter me from going on. Soon the rail
fence gave way to barbed wire; the path broadened and the underbrush
was neatly cut away. Within lay a small vegetable garden, carefully
tilled; and farther on I saw a dark green cottage almost shut in by
beeches. The path dipped sharply down and away from the cottage, and a
moment later I had lost sight of it; but below, at the edge of the
creek, stood a long house-boat with an extended platform or deck on the
waterside.
I can still feel, as I recall the day and hour, the utter peace of the
scene when first I came upon that secluded spot: the melodious flow of
the creek beneath; the flutter of homing wings; even the hum of insects
in the sweet, thymy air. Then a step farther and I came to a gate
which opened on a flight of steps that led to the house beneath; and
through the intervening tangle I saw a man sprawled at ease in a
steamer chair on the deck, his arms under his head. As I watched him
he sighed and turned restlessly, and I caught a glimpse of
close-trimmed beard and short, thin, slightly gray hair.
The place was clearly the summer home of a city man in search of quiet,
and I was turning away, when suddenly a woman's voice rang out clearly
from the bank.
"Hello the house-boat!"
"Yes; I'm here!" answered the man below.
"Come on, father; I've been looking for you everywhere," called the
voice again.
"Oh, it's too bad you've been waiting," he answered.
"Of course I've been waiting!" she flung back, and he jumped up and ran
toward her. Then down the steps flashed Helen Holbrook in white. She
paused at the gate an instant before continuing her descent to the
creek, bending her head as she sought the remaining steps. Her dark
hair and clear profile trembled a moment in the summer dusk; then she
ran past me and disappeared below.
"Daddy, you dear old fraud, I thought you were coming to meet me on the
ridge!"
I turned and groped my way along the darkening path. My heart was
thumping wildly and my forehead was wet with perspiration.
Ijima stood on the bank lighting his lantern, and I flung myself into
the launch and bade him run for home.
We were soon crossing the lake. I lay back on the cushions and gazed
up at the bright roof of stars. Before I reached Glenarm the shock of
finding Helen Holbrook in friendly communication with her father had
passed, and I sat down to dinner at nine o'clock with a sound appetite.